by David Hair
Mat smiled, feeling a warm glow of quiet pride at the old man’s words.
Hakawau looked away north, and began to talk about the road they must take.
‘Soon, you must leave. North of here, you will follow the river, until you reach Hamilton. We have friends there, among the Pakeha settlers. There is a captain who may be able to take you north to Auckland. From there, you will have to use your wits. Your biggest disadvantage is that Puarata may guess where you are going. We will try to pretend you are still here, but he will not be fooled for long, and there is little we can do to protect you once you leave our tribal lands. But, against that, you have learnt how to hide yourself from his mind. Use your wits, and you will be able to slip through.’
‘What do I do when I get there?’
‘At Reinga, there is a lighthouse, and beyond that, a bluff, overlooking the point. From the bluff, you will see an old battered pohutukawa. That is the place of departure. Toss the tiki into the pohutukawa and the power of the place will do the rest.’
Mat looked at the old man, only just brave enough to ask the next question.
‘Must Wiri die?’
Hakawau nodded sadly. They watched Wiri, far below, moving lightly among the warriors milling about the waka.
‘He died years ago, Matiu. This will give him peace, and his soul safety. I know it will be hard, but it must happen.’
‘I wish Puarata could leave him be. I wish…’
Hakawau shook his head, and looked away to the east. ‘Even now, Puarata is massing his Hauhau friends in the Ureweras. These tribes are our enemies. They outnumber us, and have guns, purchased during the wars. They are hardened from long wars with the settlers. For the sake of this village, you must stay ahead of them. If you elude Puarata, and free Wiri, you will deal a crippling blow to Puarata.’
Mat put his head in his hands and sat for a while. Hakawau reached up and ruffled his hair. His voice softened a little.
‘Life is never fair, Matiu. Not in your world. Not even here.’
One evening—the last before they must leave—Mat and Kelly were sitting on the same grassy rise with Hakawau, when Wiri climbed up from the milling warriors below to join them. At his side bounded Fitzy, wagging his tail. It was the first time they had seen him since they arrived at Maungatautari. Kelly gave a cry and leapt up, smothering the dog with hugs. Fitzy looked exceedingly pleased with himself and after submitting to Kelly’s attentions for a minute came and rubbed himself against Mat until he laughed and stroked his back.
‘Fitzy is weird. It’s almost like he can talk. And the way he looks at you, sometimes I’m sure he’s listening to everything we say.’
‘Yeah,’ said Kelly. ‘He’s a great dog, sometimes I even think he’s smarter than me.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Hakawau with a knowing smile. ‘It is time that was explained.’
Fitzy walked over, and lay down beside the old man, placing his head on Hakawau’s thigh. The tohunga looked at Wiri. ‘This tale is yours to tell.’
Wiri nodded, and then gazed out into the darkening sky. ‘It was a long time ago,’ he began after a while. ‘Puarata had taken me to the Ureweras. It was before the English settlers came—before even the first white man saw these islands. The Maori had settled the coastlands, and penetrated in small numbers to the Volcanic Plateau. But the wild lands were dangerous places, and we believed them infested with spirits and goblins. We gave them many names, and imagined them in many forms. As is the nature of such beliefs, the creatures of folklore populated the ghostlands, and became very real here in Aotearoa. Each iwi knows them by different names, so I will use the names of my people. The tall, pale-skinned fairies we call patupaiarehe. Their seaside cousins we named ponaturi. The small earthy goblins are taipo or tipua. The spirits that inhabit the earth we call kehua, and we call the shapeshifters turehu. But there are many, many fairies and goblins, as different as one man to the next.
‘At this time, Puarata had been driven from the north by Hakawau. He took Tupu and I deep into the Ureweras, to a secret place, of caves and darkness. There were patupaiarehe there, with cold skin and hungry eyes. There were tipua and kehua who bowed and scraped around the tohunga makutu, and served him. It was a lair of dangerous beings, spirit-creatures, all unfriendly to man.
‘There was a pa nearby, which the patupaiarehe preyed upon, feasting on the blood of captured women and children. The pale ones are cowardly, guarding their lives jealously and taking no risks. Puarata came to a deal with them. I would hunt for them, so they need not risk their precious skins. I hated them. Puarata sometimes let them feed from me, as a special favour. They said my blood was especially nourishing. I could do nothing—I was Puarata’s slave. He made me serve him, which I hated. He made me fish for him, in the still, icy waters of Lake Waikaremoana. He made me hunt for him, in the treacherous and tangled hills of the Ureweras, where you can lose a trail in seconds. You can plummet down a pothole and be lost in an eye-blink.
‘I learned quickly though, and was soon a legend among the people—they told stories of how the “ghost-warrior” would steal children. Those stories were true. If I was ordered to do something, I had to do it. I had no choice. If I resisted, or tried to disobey, then something inside me would rise and take over, forcing my limbs into whatever action I had been ordered to do. Many times I tried to resist—to let the child or woman escape so the patupaiarehe could not feed on them—but each time it was as if I had no will—my instincts would take over, and I would find myself bearing an unconscious person back to our cave. I grew to hate myself, and Puarata more.
‘Puarata walled me about with rules, to prevent me misbehaving. “Do not harm the patupaiarehe.” “Do not fight with Tupu.” “Do not run away.” Many rules, to prevent me harming him, his servants, or his plans. At first I was without hope, he ruled every moment of my life and no matter what I did, he was in control, forcing me to do whatever he wanted. He tried to turn me into another Tupu, making me do terrible things I will never speak of, evil deeds designed to break my defiance, and make me a willing accomplice, like Tupu. Then something happened to give me hope.
‘One morning Puarata went to the lake and while climbing Panekiri Bluff he saw a turehu—a shapeshifter. He wanted to capture it, but turehu are cunning tricksters and he knew it would be no straightforward hunt.
‘First, he travelled south, to the coasts, and found paua shells. Then he went south to Ngati Porou, and traded for some pounamu. Then he went north, among Te Arawa and traded for quartz. When he returned he locked himself away and created a magnificent necklace. He carved clever, faceted beads, alternating paua, pounamu and quartz, each bead a miniature masterpiece—this one a taniwha, this a manaia, this one a hei-tiki—each tiny and intricate. It was beautiful beyond words, because Puarata knew turehu love bright things, and like to steal them. But he had woven spells about it, curses to ruin the wearer’s magic and draw harm to them. Then he gave it to me, with these instructions:
“Go to the lake, and leave this necklace high on the bluff of Panekiri. Hide yourself nearby. Should anyone find this thing other than the turehu, knock them senseless, and throw their body from the bluff. When the turehu finds the necklace, capture it, and bring it here.”
‘I did what Puarata commanded. On a fine, windy day, I placed the necklace on a rock, at the very pinnacle of the bluff, and lay in wait. Fortunately no villagers came, so I was not obliged to murder anyone. Instead, a great gull circled, lower and lower, until it swooped down, and alighted on the rock. Its claws stroked the necklace, and there was a blur of movement. Instead of a bird, a little goblin-man was there. He was dark-skinned, with short twisted limbs and only three fingers on each hand, and three toes on each foot. His hairless skull was large and his ears pointed.
He crooned over the necklace, and he put it on, making admiring noises.
‘At once, I felt the compulsions of Puarata and rose from my hiding place to strike the goblin down. It shrieked, and tried to leap into
the air, and transform itself into a gull again, but I was too swift and seized it in my hands. It wriggled and squirmed and tried to bite but I was too strong. I began to carry it down the bluff, to take it back to the caves.
‘After a while it realised struggling was hopeless—it couldn’t change shape with the necklace on, and I was too strong for it in its normal body. So it went still, and began to talk to me instead. “Who are you?” it asked.
‘I found that I could answer—Puarata had not forbidden me to talk with my prey. “I am Toa, servant of Puarata, the tohunga makutu.”
‘ “Ah,” said the turehu. “Did the tohunga makutu enchant this necklace to capture me?”
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘ “He must be a great sorcerer.”
‘Yes,’ I replied bitterly.
‘He asked many more questions, about who I was and why I was helping the tohunga makutu. When he realised I was a slave of his dark magic, the turehu asked me more about what I could and couldn’t do, and whether I hated the tohunga and wished to be free. As we came closer to the caves, he became desperate.
‘He begged me to let him go, but the compulsions on me were too great. I could not. But turehu are clever, and he began to seize on every word I spoke, trying to twist it to see if he could bend and break it.
‘ “You were commanded to bring the turehu ‘here’ were you not?”
‘Yes.’
‘ “Were you forbidden to remove the necklace?” the turehu asked.
‘I stopped, and shook my head.’
‘ “Then do so.”
‘I held him, because I was still under compulsion to hold him. But with one hand I tried to remove the necklace. I could! He sighed in relief as it was removed. Then he grinned at me, his black lips pulled back over tiny pointed teeth.
‘ “What am I?” he asked me.
‘You are a turehu.’
‘He changed shape, even as I held him. He became a gull and beat at me with his wings. But still I hung on.
‘He stopped and spoke, in a voice made strange by the beak. “I am a gull, now,” he said. “I am no longer a turehu.”
‘I shook my head. “You are still turehu, even in gull-form. ”
‘He hissed in frustration, even as I continued toward the cave.
‘He became a dog such as the Maori brought with them to Aotearoa and bit me on the arm. But still I wouldn’t let him go. I could not. My orders were still clear.
‘He tried fish, and nearly wriggled away. He tried bat and nearly clawed and flapped clear. Then he tried eel, and when he wriggled, his slippery skin was nearly too hard to grip. Just as I got a grip he became a lizard, and off came his tail, and he leapt free, leaving the tail in my hands. I fell to my knees, knowing that a terrible punishment would await me, but feeling strangely satisfied, that this creature had escaped Puarata.
‘The turehu took bird-shape and flew to the branches of a tree, where it went back to its natural goblin-shape and looked down at me. “I am too smart to be held by the coils of a tohunga and his puny slave,” it said.
‘I am glad,’ I said. ‘You should flee now, because Puarata is coming.’
‘The turehu looked, and saw Puarata indeed coming, wrathful that the turehu had escaped my grasp. The turehu fled, but before it did, it told me three things. Firstly, it told me that it could see my spirit was unbroken by the tohunga, and that because I still resisted the tohunga it had been able to find a way to escape. Secondly, it told me it would try to find a way for me to also escape the bonds of the tohunga. Finally, as a token of friendship, the turehu told me its name, even though it knew that if Puarata found it out from me, it might provide Puarata with a way to capture him. I will not say that name, except that it is long, and begins with Whiati which sounds similar to Fitzy, the name he planted into your head, Mat, when he first met you.
‘So it was that the turehu escaped me, and in doing so, gave me back hope that Puarata could be thwarted, and one day I could escape. Puarata punished me, and it was years before I made even a little headway in escaping from him, but I now had hope, thanks to the turehu.’
Mat looked at Wiri, and then at the dog.
Kelly coughed, and said. ‘Weird story. If it wasn’t for everything else we’ve been through, I’d laugh at you.’
The dog sat up, and its mouth opened. Instead of a bark, it spoke in a throaty, awkward voice that made Kelly and Mat jump. ‘I can prove it to you easily enough, wahine. Would you like to see my true form?’
Kelly edged away, shaking her head quickly. ‘No thanks.’
Mat looked at the ‘dog’ curiously. ‘I think I’ve seen you already, that first night in the cave after we escaped Donna.’
Fitzy nodded and leaned forward. ‘I like this dog-shape. And people tend to ignore me, which can be handy. If Puarata had realised who I was back at Taupo he’d have beaten me into pulp.’
‘Should we call you Whiati?’
The dog shook his head. ‘I like Fitzy.’
‘OK.’ Kelly wiped her brow. ‘I can tell you one thing, though.’
‘Yes?’ The turehu looked at her curiously.
‘That’s the last time you sleep cuddled up to me.’
It snickered. ‘Aww, c’mon, I’m just a cute doggy! I can keep you nice and warm at night!’ It grinned, and looked around at the others.
Kelly looked at Mat. ‘I liked him better when he just barked. Don’t know about you, kiddo, but this whole thing would freak me out if I stopped to think about it.’
She got up and walked away. The turehu went to follow her, but Wiri called him back.
‘Well, you go and make sure she’s OK, then,’ the turehu told the warrior.
Wiri stared after her. ‘I don’t think she wants to talk to me.’
‘Well, then,’ said the dog, and he bounded after Kelly, barking. At first she looked as if she might run, or tell him to go away, but then she slowed, and with the turehu trotting protectively beside her, they walked on until they were lost from view.
Hakawau looked at Wiri. ‘She cares for you, the Pakeha girl.’
Wiri nodded. ‘Ever since we reached our decision, she refuses to talk to me.’
Hakawau nodded. ‘It is hard for her. Hard for you both. Because what she feels for you…you also feel, do you not?’
Wiri nodded mournfully.
Mat got up and walked away. He didn’t want to hear the rest. Ever since he had met Wiri, he had felt a sense of kinship, as if the warrior were an older brother, watching over him, guiding him, laughing with him. He didn’t want to think about losing him. It didn’t seem fair. He’d wanted a brother most of his life. Now that he’d found one, he was going to lose him again, one way or the other.
13
The road north
Leaving the pa next morning was almost too sad to bear. The women sang, the warriors laughed and cheered, and the lucky ones chosen for the waka strutted with bravado and merriment. Manu was among them, a soldier’s cap pulled down over his eyes against the sun’s glare.
Iru burst into tears when Wiri rubbed her nose in farewell, and tried to cling to him, to Kelly’s disgust. Rata farewelled them each individually, and finally unbowed to embrace Wiri warmly, to show he was truly forgiven. The tribe cheered at this very public reconciliation.
The children waved cheerfully at Kelly, who was back in her travelling clothes, and she waved back, smiling.
‘Haere Ra, Matiu,’ said Hakawau to Mat. ‘Farewell, and good fortune. Haere Ra, Haere Ra.’ He clasped Mat’s hands, and pressed his nose to Mat’s. Mat felt tears sting his eyes, and blinked.
‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ was all he could manage.
They climbed into the waka, which held a dozen warriors, plus Mat, Kelly and Fitzy in the stern amidst gourds of food, and a pile of blankets. The dog-shaped turehu looked about him disdainfully, and then climbed to the rim of the waka. His form seemed to blur and stretch in a way that defied all nature, and then he was a massive gull, that squawked
, rose slowly into the air, and swooped away.
‘That is so weird,’ said Kelly. ‘I’ll never get used to it.’
Mat could only nod in agreement, as he watched the turehu skim the waters, flying northward, blazing a path for the waka to follow.
The journey on the river took two days. They were travelling north with the current; although it was only gentle, it helped, and the warriors were strong and tireless. Though Wiri was at the front, in the place of leadership, Manu was directly in front of Mat and Kelly, and kept them entertained with stories about the places they were going through. He told them about the warrior Hatupatu who had fled through this area from the Bird-Witch. They asked him about turehu, and he told them many stories of turehu, ponaturi and patupaiarehe.
‘Some of the shapeshifters are OK, like Whiati or Fitzy or whatever you call him. But others are wild and mean. Then there are the ponaturi, who are fairies of the seaside, and look more like people. They are wild and dangerous, but not always evil. Sometimes they fall in love with a human, and lure them away. That is what happened to Pania.
‘The patupaiarehe are plain scary—pale and pretty, but they’ll kill you without blinking. If you see one, run! Though I’ve heard they sometimes take a fancy to a man and keep them to play with…until they get bored.’ He grimaced thoughtfully. ‘Wiri has seen them. I stay well clear, myself.’
He also told them about the wars with the settlers, without great anger, as though it were a sad thing that was inevitable. ‘But I still get angry. And it will get worse. I have seen the world as it will be, remember. I know that this is a war that will be lost.’
‘How come you can get into our world?’ asked Mat.
Manu shrugged. ‘It isn’t so hard. There are places where the two run together, and if you know how, you can move across.’
Mat thought about that. He even got out the tiki and tried to visualise his own world, but it was too illusive—he didn’t know how to imagine it right, and nothing happened, so he put the thought aside.